


Under the Misteltoe

by rainsrabble



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 21:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainsrabble/pseuds/rainsrabble
Summary: Christmas at the GrangersWritten for the Secret Santa Exchange :)





	Under the Misteltoe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Secret Santa Exchange :)
> 
> Prompt #24:  
> Draco’s first Muggle Christmas. Hermione makes him watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas (original not live action). They make Christmas cookies and complete other Muggle Christmas Traditions

“My mother expects us to attend her holiday gala,” Draco drawled from her bed, shamelessly gloriously naked, one hand propped behind his head as he watched her dress. Hermione tried to keep a lid on her blushes as she tried to be as casual as he was, but flitting around her room naked while he ate her up with his eyes would never be something she got used to.

 

He seemed to enjoy the show even though she rushed through shimmying into her panties and covered her breasts as quickly as she could with a bra. She wasn’t really surprised that Narcissa wanted her at the party. The Malfoy’s used any opportunity available to parade _the muggle-born_ about in front of the press. She was good for their tattered image.

 

She sat down to put on her stockings and chanced a glance at Draco, who wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn’t staring. He gave her a slow warm smile, showing his teeth, and Hermione lost the battle and blushed, ducking her head. It was nice to be so appreciated, and she wished she could be more confident about it. The thing about Draco was he never missed an opportunity to leer and while it was good for her ego, it also made her feel like an awkward schoolgirl. Still, she rolled up her stockings and tried to be at least a little slow and sexy putting them on. He let her get her stockings up and halfway wiggled into her skirt before he spoke again.

 

“We can probably trade attendance to have either Christmas Eve or Christmas to visit with your family. When does your family celebrate?”

 

A denial was out of her lips before she could censor herself and Draco stiffened just enough for her to try to backpaddle, but it was too late, he was too sharp for her to talk her away around him the way she could with the boys.

 

“Why isn’t it necessary? Don’t you usually spend Yule with your family?” He asked, most of his previous warmth and good humor dried up.

 

“Well my family are Muggles,” she said stupidly, buttoning up her shirt as quickly as possible while glancing around for her brush. The wisest strategy was retreat, but she needed to de-sex her hair before she could venture out of her room at the very least.

 

“Really? I had no idea!” He snarled angrily, rolling out of bed and beginning to get dressed in jerky little huffy motions.

 

“Come on Draco, you don’t really want to spend the holidays with a dozen Muggles pretending that magic doesn’t exist, do you?”

 

His glare was so cold she felt like she needed to cast a charm to prevent frostbite.

 

She sighed, this was going to be a disaster.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Hermione was increasingly nervous and unable to keep her irritation with Draco in check. His incredulousness that muggles used planes for transportation was obnoxious. Currently he had his nose pressed up against the floor to ceiling glass staring at the planes. She’d already explained that physics, not magic, kept them in the air. Then she had to explain that physics was not muggle nonsense and was actually much more reliable than magic. The resulting 20-minute argument had not only fouled her mood, it had made them late, and Draco was impossible to rush.

 

Her aunt Sophia had insisted on picking them up from the airport, so they had needed to apparate here and now Draco was dragging his feet, fascinated with the damn planes. She had made some snotty remark about how he was acting worse than Mr. Weasley and now there was a decided frost between them and Hermione just might lose it completely if things didn’t thaw in a hurry. She was bringing a boy home, and that boy was not the type of boy that girls like her brought home.

 

She needed him to be his best possible self, not his swotty spoilt self. Most boys had a difference between their best selves and their worst selves. Draco was so different from Malfoy that she sometimes wondered if he had a split personality. She was having enough trouble with the concept of bringing Draco home. She would never survive Christmas if she had to bring Malfoy home.

 

He sure did clean up nice though. Dressed head to toe in soul sucking black mugglewear, his carefully manicured hair falling artfully into his beautiful crystal-clear eyes. She would think he would be uncomfortable dressed so differently, but he looked just at home in a suit as he did in three layers of beautiful dress robes. No tie, black turtleneck. A little unconventional, just a little left of traditional. Dead sexy. Sometimes, she did just like to look at him, heaven help her.

 

He noticed her looking and gave her a once over that had her nerves rubbing sideways and her awareness of her nipples sharpening. He gave her that special smile he saved just for her, and pushed away from the viewing area, swiftly walking into her space. Warm hands cupping her face, soft lips crashing into hers. Draco always kissed her like he meant it. There were never sweet pecks goodbye, or perfunctory rote kisses that were just because they were dating. Every kiss felt like he was declaring his love for the first time. It was very intoxicating.

 

She had to force herself to pull away, to take a steadying breath, to remember her aunt was waiting out by the luggage. Perhaps she could talk him out of it. Perhaps she could just kiss him again and suggest a hotel room and he would be distracted enough to forget this disastrous plan of going home for the holidays.  He seemed to read her mind, the way he sometimes did, and gave her a mocking grin before stooping to grab their luggage.

 

Fine, she sighed dramatically, and tried to mentally prepare herself to meet her Aunt Sophia.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Aunt Sophia hadn’t volunteered to pick them up because she was such a humanitarian. She had insisted because she wanted first dibs for rubbernecking at _the boy_. Thus, Hermione was not surprised when she insisted on hugging _the boy_ as though he was family. Nor shocked at the blatant over the top flirting with _the boy_. The sly innuendo’s, the winking, the overt exaggeration of her frailty that resulted in _the boy_ helping an old lady to her car. Still Hermione made a point to give her Aunt a stern look that had the woman behaving a little better in the car.

 

She was practically a mess of hives once they reached the house. If just Aunt Sophia was this bad, the entire family was going to be 100 times worse. Draco was in equally bad shape. Aunt Sophia had a fondness for speed and a squinty guidelines attitude about traffic laws and signs. He was clinging to the door jamb as though the flimsy plastic would protect him in an accident and clutching his wand with the other hand. Hermione sat close, her arm linked through his, more for her own nerves than any desire to comfort him. Draco loved the dramatic and she usually let him have his hysterics.

 

As her Aunt careened into the driveway Hermione glanced over her shoulder, calculating the best escape route. Draco released his wand to grab her hand preemptively and held on tightly, anchoring her to his side. She gave him a foul look that caused him to laugh. She should be the one reassuring him, it was her family after all. But he had wanted this, so she simply gave him a frosty smile in return and inwardly gloated about the treatment _the boy_ was about to receive.

 

The entire family converged on them in the driveway, pumping Draco’s hand, hugging her, slapping Draco on the back. One loud noisy pack of family intrusiveness that had both her and Draco trying to edge away from the cacophony a bit and gain some space to breathe. Draco had met her parents before, over tea, and it had been a quiet dignified affair. There was nothing dignified about a dozen cousins elbowing for space, so they could leer and hoot at _the boy_. She’d tried to warn him, but she felt little satisfaction at her worst fears coming to pass because she was burning with embarrassment.

 

In true Granger fashion twenty minutes after arriving found Hermione in the kitchen helping with the holiday cookies and Draco God’s knows where, doing manly Christmas stuff. The innocent looks were wasted on her, she knew her family wanted to divide and conquer. Get them apart so they could be interrogated separately. Hermione was almost in a panic wondering if her father had poor Draco cornered while he grilled him about his _intentions_.

 

Aunt Martha’s exclamations about how pleased she was that Hermione had finally brought home someone and wasn’t doomed to die a spinster were way too heavy handed to be genuine. Sneering backhanded compliments from her cousins that Draco was surprisingly good looking had her seething, she was aware she was not the prettiest belle in the family, thank you very much.

 

The relief she felt when Draco wondered into the kitchen unaccompanied after a mere half hour was so anticlimactic that she almost swooned. She had forgotten that way he had of doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He could hold his own, she didn’t have to worry about Draco, at least. His presence silenced the gossip quite effectively and him slipping his arms around her middle and resting his head on her shoulder chased the ghosts of her insecurity out of the room.

 

The envious look on her snotty cousin Tabitha’s face was particularly gratifying. Not that it mattered, Hermione could care less about physical looks, but her boyfriend was the prettiest guy any of the cousins had ever brought home. She had certainly bagged a good looking one. She wanted to stick her tongue out and announce he was rich as well, just in case they couldn’t tell from his ridiculously fancy suit.

 

“Who are the crappy cookies for? Am I expected to eat those?” He whispered in her ear, the sneer in his voice strangely endearing.

 

“The cookies are for Santa,” she whispered back, a smile curving her lips as she continued to frost a slightly misshapen elf cookie.

 

“Muggles still believe in Santa?” She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her and twisted about so she could swat at him with her frosting laden spatula. Being the naturally quick footed fella that he was, Draco managed to dodge, and she spent a happy five minutes chasing him about trying to smear red frosting in his hair while her family watched bemused.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

While the ham roasted happily in the oven and the pies cooled on the counter Hermione found herself snuggled up with Draco on the loveseat with a pile of relatives watching The Grinch. She hadn’t actually watched the video in years, usually helping in the kitchen while the cheery animated film played. But Draco had never seen the Christmas Classic, or any other movie, so she had encouraged him to watch and he had tugged her down beside him.

 

It was nice squashed up against him, her feet curled up underneath, his arm a solid warm presence around her shoulders. He had at some point ditched his jacket and his lovely turtleneck was soft and warm against her cheek. She’d always been part of the crew for these family gatherings. Rushing about making sure everyone had something to drink, and something to eat, and that the loo didn’t run out of tissue. A mad scramble to keep 30 people satisfied and happy for an entire evening was stressful and she had always associated that hair pulling feeling with Christmas. This was different, just lazing about with the group, enjoying the film.  

 

Draco twisted a bit to whisper in her ear, his warm minty breath stirring her hair and causing gooseflesh to bubble up along her collarbone. “Is this where you got your obsession with house elves?”

“That is not a house elf, Draco, that is a Who.”

“Who what?”

“The creature, it’s called a Who. They are Who’s and they all live in Whoville.”

“That,” Draco drawled decisively, gesturing at the screen and whispering rather haughtily. “Is clearly a house elf drawn by a drunk muggle.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Dinner conversation around the table was a little off. Since Draco was the only new addition everyone wanted to chat with him. Usually a charming dinner conversationalist, his new obsession with planes was a bit of a conversation hog. He kept asking who had flown to get here and Hermione was very worried he would slip up and admit he had never flown.

 

It wasn’t until he started talking with her father quite seriously about what it took to obtain a pilot’s license that Hermione finally twigged onto his wavelength. He didn’t just want to ride on a plane. He wanted to fly one! Oh no, a broomstick was bad enough. Put Draco in charge of a jet engine and there would be Weasley level hijinks.

 

Absolutely not! She had thought he was just teasing her about the whole physics thing. Sometimes he liked to give her a hard time about all things Muggle. Far removed from the vitriol of her past for sure, but silly things, like the Santa thing, or the Who thing. But he was serious. Draco had finally found something purely Muggle that he was really interested in, besides her that is. Her father and Uncle Bill were no help at all. They were actually encouraging this craziness. Talking about fighter jets and private planes and twin engines. He’d be dead within the week!  There had to be someway to distract him.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

While desert was served Hermione scarpered off to the loo, it was bound to be empty with everyone distracted by delicious pie. She took a few minutes to freshen up, giving her hair a little spritz of product for the frizz and rinsing her mouth out since the dinner had been a little heavy on her tongue. She also put on a bit of smell good. Parents house or no, she had to use every bit of wiliness she had to distract him from this pilot’s business before she was dating a big pile of plane crash.

 

She excited the bathroom to find Draco waiting for her at the end of the hall.

 

She hurried up to him, telling him if he needed to use the loo to hurry while it was vacant. Thirty people tended to cause a revolving door effect on the poor tiny room. However, he didn’t move, only grinned that _I’ve caused some sort of mayhem_ grin at her, and she glance around trying to figure out what sort of drama he had caused. He pulled his mindreading trick and pointed up. She followed his gaze to see that he was directly underneath a sprig of good old-fashioned mistletoe.

 

Now this was muggle mistletoe and the only thing keeping him glued to the spot was tradition and a sense of fun, but Draco stood there anyway, smiling like a loon. Once she understood about the mistletoe, he wasted no more time, reaching out to grasp her hand and pull her close, for a downright bridal style kiss. He literally bent her backwards as he frenched her shamelessly and Hermione decided to hell with it and kissed him back. Being embarrassed wasn’t going to get her out of it and she might as well be a good sport.

 

Her Uncle Bill let out a full-throated wolf whistle and Hermione realized that they had a full audience. Only the littlest of the little was still watching the movie. Draco brought her upright and Hermione blushed a sunset as she looked over at the crowd of assorted relatives who had just watched her being quite thoroughly kissed. Even her mother and her Aunt Sophia had come out of the kitchen and Hermione suddenly realized that something was up.

 

She tried to pull back, nervousness breaking through her system, but her feet were seemingly glued to the carpet. Draco didn’t seem to care about the look on her face as he pulled a small black box from his pocket. “I talked to your dad, got his blessing.”

 

He was sinking to one knee, her mother was misty eyed, somewhere far away she heard his voice as if through a tunnel asking her to be a bride. Her heartbeat was a siren in her ears, the world around her fuzzy at the edges. Only Draco mattered, telling her he loved her, that he wanted to be with her forever. She barely heard herself whisper a yes through the buzzing in her ears and then he was slipping a band on her finger.

 

The world snapped back into sharp detail as he rose to his feet to kiss her again. She was aware of her family clapping, of the taste of forever on his tongue as he gave her sweet kisses between declarations of love. Her family converged on them again, hugging her, hugging Draco, and this time it didn’t feel like an attack. It felt like inclusion, like acceptance.

 

She hadn’t realized until this very moment how much all of this meant to her. The warm smell of pine and cinnamon cookies. The press of people who loved her no matter what. The safe-haven of her childhood home. Draco had managed to read her mind again and somehow know that if he was going to propose that it would mean the most here, in this place, with these people to witness their happiness. This was her past, and with Draco it would be her future.

 

Draco didn’t even laugh at her when she cried.


End file.
